


The Way It Was

by Alim Siemanym (AlimSiemanym)



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: AU, Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Child Abuse, Prostitution, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-21
Updated: 2006-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-28 13:51:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlimSiemanym/pseuds/Alim%20Siemanym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roy Mustang's story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way It Was

The twelve-year-old girl accepted the piece of rotting fish from the homeless man with a bright smile. "Thanks, Pierre!" she exclaimed, carefully wrapping it in a piece of greased paper and storing it in a pocket of her ragged, oversized pants. She adjusted the rope holding them on her thin body and turned her attention back to the man. "Heard any news lately?"

Pierre shrugged and hummed a snatch of melody aloud. He was an unwashed, run-down remnant of humanity, with large, wet doe-like eyes and an inability to hurt anyone. Maybe that's why he was still alive after many years on the street. Maybe that's why he was on the street.

"P'lice raid t'night," he said suddenly, slowly, as if waking up from a daze. "Warehouses."

The girl raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" she sat down across the alley from her informant and leaned against the brick wall. "Which ones?"

"Eh--" Pierre seemed to zone out a bit, and his head swayed as though moving with some unheard music. He shook his head violently and muttered something, then humming and mumbling a snatch of song: "and when they come, 't will all be done... rejoice, rejoice!"

Entirely used to this sort of behavior, the girl sat back against the stone and waited patiently. She pulled the piece of fish from her pocket and began to eat it with her fingers, carefully breaking off little morsels and chewing them slowly, savoring the taste. She left a bit -- just in case -- and wrapped it back up.

"Sev'ty-two," Pierre said suddenly, turning to face her once more. "All th' sixties... fif'y-nine... an' th' ol' Jarbangles one."

The girl sucked in a breath. Jarbangles & Co had been a furniture importer before it went out of business twenty years ago. They left behind an enormous waterfront warehouse right on the river, full of old wooden furniture. The darker element of the city had wasted no time moving in, turning it into a house of prositution within a year. But slowly, as crime bosses died and power changed hands, it became something else... something worse... The sort of thing that even the street kids knew to avoid. It was one thing to run a pleasure-house full of scantily clad women -- and a few men -- with heavy make-up and faux-blond hair. It was another thing entirely to run a pleasure-house full of children...

"Deni."

Blinking at the sound of her name, she turned her attention back to Pierre.

"Y'can sleep in m' dumpster, if y'want," he offered with a vague, lopsided smile. Then the expression disappeared, to be replaced with a vacant, glazed look as he started humming again.

Warehouse 72 had a nice loft where she usually slept. Not anymore -- if the police found any street children, they put them in Homes. You only left the Homes in one of two ways: in a wooden box or as a mentally-unbalanced, drinking, violent adult whose survival on the streets could sometimes be counted in hours afterwards.

It was nice of Pierre to offer, she thought as she stood up, glancing once at the man before striding down the alley. Pierre was having an animated conversation with a squirrel -- 'Missy Squirr'ly' -- that only he could see. Unfortunately, she wouldn't be taking him up on his offer... she was insanely curious about what was going to go down at the Jarbangles Warehouse.  


* * *

  
Deni tugged on the sleeves of her new over-sized coat and adjusted her position on the roof of Warehouse 12. It was the best position from which to see anything that might occur at Jarbangles, as the newer facility towered over the out-dated, single-story warehouse. The only down-side was that it reeked of fish; but that didn't do much to deter a street kid whose life was full of unwashed filth.

She tugged again on the sleeves of her coat. She had found it in a trashcan outside of one of the gated communities over on the West Side. She usually didn't hang around the West Side -- areas with rich people tended to swarm with policemen -- but she had been bored and her mind was working overtime as she imagined what would happen tonight. Luck had been on her side when the first trashcan she opened turned out to have inside a child's coat whose only sin was to have a hole in one elbow. For a girl who had gone without a shirt for three years, this was like heaven. It was way too big, but it was still heaven.

Still absently adjusting her sleeves, Deni watched with interest as another person snuck into the Jarbangles warehouse. Rich people were so silly, she reflected. They thought they were being so discreet. Honestly, crouching and looking in all directions and appearing to sneak draws attention. The thing to do, if one wanted to be unnoticed, is to keep your eyes on your target and walk with determination and purpose, as if you have a government-given right to be there.

Sometimes she wondered where Pierre got his information. The folks at Jarbangles were oblivious to the fact that their fun time was about to come to an abrupt, humiliating end. For that matter, no one else seemed to know of the other warehouse raids either. It wasn't her concern: it was every man for himself out here on the streets, unless you were lucky enough to have an ally like Pierre.

The quiet purr of an engine brought her attention back to the scene. A black car slowly drove past the Jarbangles warehouse -- an unmarked police vehicle, she recognized the dent in the roof where she had dropped a brick a year ago -- and turned the corner. That was the advance guard, making sure that there had been no breach of security, no getaway. And now...

Sometimes she was surprised at how many police officers the Force could muster on such a short notice. And it must have been short notice, because when the police tried to plan these raids in advance, someone was invariably tipped off. Perhaps fifty men surrounded the building, all looking grim in their navy-blue jackets and military-like bearing. Most carried rifles; the officers grimly gripped their pistols and seemed to be taking refuge behind the lower-ranking masses.

And then came the dogs. Snapping, snarling dogs -- muzzled, of course -- straining at their leashes, nearly dragging their minders into the fray. They were only there for effect, of course, but if it really got bad --

And there was the police commissioner, a military officer who had done something so very stupid as to merit the drudgery of an assignment like the Central police force when there were so many other more interesting people he could be killing...

The Commissioner marched up the the front of the group, placing himself directly in front of the large warehouse doors. He raised the bullhorn to his lips, waited a second for emphasis, and bellowed -- "This is a police raid. Put your hands on your heads and lay face-down on the ground, and no one will be hurt. Suspects fleeing the premesis will be shot. This is an official police raid--"

The world exploded into a flurry of color and noise, as the police officers charged forward and the people within panicked. Some jumped from the window, in various states of undress, trying to run. Others pulled out hidden pistols and knives, grabbing hand-made clubs. One held a pistol to the head of a listless, broken-looking boy and shouted something... only to go down in a hail of bullets, the child collapsing with a keening cry as well. It was morbidly fascinating to watch, to see the reactions, to see how sick and twisted people would react to the threat of having their dirty secrets aired for the public to see...

But something caught her eye. A small shape that jumped from a window, hugging the shadows as it rain onwards. It must have been a child -- no adults came in such small sizes. What was it doing?

Mind aflame with curiosity, Deni abandoned her seat, tugged her jacket closed, and began her pursuit.  


* * *

She caught up with it in a park. Not much of a park, just five square feet of grass and a bench, but enough to qualify it as a park in the eyes of the government.

The child was huddled under the bench, curled up in a ball in the shadows, trying to pretend that it didn't exist. She slowly got to her knees, leaned over, and peered under the bench. Her movements were slow and deliberate, like her mother had told her to act around scared things a very long time ago.

It was a little boy, as naked as the day he was born. His skin was a myriad of welts and bruises and oozing scabs. There was an outline of a hand on his upper thigh and a pattern of cigarette burns down his chest.

He flinched at her gaze and turned his face away, but not before she saw the teeth marks in his lips -- too big and awkwardly placed to be self-inflicted.

"Are you cold?" she asked, keeping her voice quiet.

He turned back at her, black hair falling into his face as he peered at her through scared black eyes. His face had a delicate, almost feminine structure, something that would, in his line of business, obviously be--

She squashed the thought and smiled at the boy instead. "If you come out from there," she said. "I'll give you my coat. See? It's big and warm."

She stood up and moved away -- close enough that if he tried to run, she could catch him, but far enough that she was out of arms reach. Slowly, cautiously, the boy slunk out from under the bench. He moved with the smooth grace of a dancer, but with the awkward, halting movements of someone who is in so much pain that every movement is a moment of agony. He stood before her, uncaring, it seemed, of his state of undress, but looking at her with some measure of distrust.

She took off her coat and stepped towards him. His eyes widened and he backed away, muscles tensing as he prepared to run. "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise," she said, trying to make her face look open, inviting. She stepped towards him again, and though he tensed further, he didn't move back. Another step, and she was able to drape the coat about his shoulders.

He was rather small. The coat that on her had come to her waist dangled down nearly to his ankles. He looked lost as he peered up at her with a strange glinting look in his eye. She shrugged off the thought and carefully rolled up the coat's sleeves so that the boy's hands could be seen. He had long, thin fingers and his knuckles were red and swollen. With a frown and some effort, he managed to button up the coat.

He looked back up at her and she considered him. It looked rather like he was wearing some odd form of a dress. "You need a belt," she announced in conclusion.

At the word 'belt', he looked mildly terrified. She drew the connection quickly. "I'm not going to beat you," she said quietly. She untied the piece of rope from about her waist. Her pants slid down, only to be stopped at her hips. It was a bit lower than she was used to wearing pants, but it didn't show anything.

"Here," she said as she looped it about it waist and tied it neatly at the side. "Now you look nearly presentable."

The boy smiled hesitantly and she found herself grinning in return. "Now, what's your name?" she asked.

He looked down at the ground and scuffed at it with one bare foot. "Roy," he mumbled.

"'Lo Roy," she replied. "M'name's Deni. What's your surname?"

"I don't have one," he said. "Boss Ronnie said that all sluts are worms and worms don't have families."

"Of course they do," Deni replied. "How else do they have babies?" But she knew that was a lie even as the words left her mouth. "Besides, you're not a worm," she added.

Roy shrugged and drew another squiggle in the loose earth with his toe. "I had a daddy once," he said quietly.

Deni raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" she asked. "And what was his name?"

Roy shrugged again. "I don't remember him much," he said. "He brought me to Boss Ronnie and Boss Ronnie gave him money and my daddy left and..." he trailed off into silence.

"Well, he was obviously not much of a daddy," Deni declared. "Families don't do that sorta thing."

"I've got no family," Roy replied, looking back up at her.

"Sure you do," she replied firmly. "You can be my family. How's that?"

The shock on Roy's face was nearly comical. "Really?" he breathed. "I can be your family?" Then his face fell. "But Boss Ronnie said that sluts--"

"Boss Ronnie's an idiot," she said. "He's being arrested by the police right now. And you're not a slut. You're my little brother -- how's that sound?"

"Brother?" came the incredulous whisper.

"Yep --" Deni replied. "And as my brother, you're part of my family, and as my family, you get my surname. We'll be the best family ever!"

"Family." Roy seemed to be trying to believe that such a thing was actually happening to him.

"Roy Mustang -- sounds good, yeah?" and Denise Mustang laughed out loud and Roy joined her. They weren't bound by blood or kin, but they were family.

**Author's Note:**

> This and an unrelated FMA story called _The Allseer_ were posted to an obscure FMA archive in 2006. They were written based off of the first anime television series (English dub via Adult Swim) and were written prior to having seen the first FMA movie, _Conqueror of Shamballa_. When the archive went down, this one chapter was all that was able to be recovered. That being said, having lost all of the other chapters, outlines, and notes, this story should be considered abandoned.


End file.
